


Hold

by squireofgeekdom



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: "They haul each other out of the water, hurting and stumbling, his arm around her shoulders, and when they collapse on the stones it is with her arms around him, and his arms around her."Father and daughter, holding on to each other.A vignette set in and after the end of Batgirl (2000) issue 50
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30





	Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue from Batgirl (2000) issue 50. Panels for reference: https://squireofgeekdom.tumblr.com/post/188647284039/do-you-ever-just-cry-about-cass-and-her-dad-bruce
> 
> Sometimes I just gotta write hugs.

They haul each other out of the water, hurting and stumbling, his arm around her shoulders, and when they collapse on the stones it is with her arms around him, and his arms around her. 

His solid strength, the strength that could carry the world, is still there as he holds on more tightly to her shoulder, wraps himself around her, one hand in her hair. Holds on to her like she’s something - no, some_ one _, worth protecting. Caring for.

There had been many things that had been hard to understand, after she had come out of the world Cain had tried to mold her in. So many things she had not seen before. Watching people in the - in the _ World _ \- with movements, motions she had seen, but never together, never that way, never for that reason. Like words that, on their own, made sense, but together, surrounded by others, might as well be a foreign language. 

But now - now she’s seen more. She’s seen fathers and daughters, and that - that’s helped her understand her own past. But maybe now - she understands her own future too. 

He doesn’t have to say ‘daughter’ aloud; she can see it, as clearly as she’s ever seen anything, feel it in his gloved hands on her soaking wet hair.   
  
So she holds on too.

_ Father. _

\---

Slowly, the tunnel’s darkness softens, and just as slowly, but with far more care, his hand moves from her hair to join his other hand, both gently holding her shoulder. And so too, she loosens her grip, letting one hand rest on his shoulder. Her head stays pressed up against his chest, where she can hear the steady beat of his heart, and the breathing that had been absent underwater. She listens, as she tries to make words form in her mouth, and somehow the sound makes it easier. 

“He never let me _ touch _him … hold him…” she says, her arms tensing just slightly, her body going back with her mind, anticipating a hit, being pushed away. But that isn’t going to happen, everything she can see, can feel in his arms, his hands, his shoulders, tells her that he has no intention of letting go. 

“... just fighting… and hurting…” she continues, and she can feel his anger in the brief stiffness of his hands, anger not at her, but at Cain. More importantly, she can feel the care in the way his hands soften, the way his thumb moves gently over her shoulder, the steady hold of his arms, the beat of his heart. 

There is a child she remembers being, and for a moment, as she is held - steady, careful, _ father _ \- she can close her eyes and let that child live in her heart, and believe that she could stay here, in this moment, forever. Like they’re floating together underwater again, but with no fear of drowning.

She sits back. There are things that are better to say with words. 

She leaves one hand on his chest, where she can feel him breathing easily as she can see it, and he takes her hand, holds it, still holding on as she says, “You hurt me, too...” 

She can see the pain, the regret on his face, in his body, in a microsecond. Barbara had said that he had been afraid that being Batgirl was - hurting her, so she continues, before he can get the wrong idea, “... when you sent me away.”

He doesn’t have to say he is sorry; she remembers how he had said it after he had told her to leave, in his words and in his body, and she can see that same sentiment etched all over him now, can feel it as he nods his head and gives her hand a brief squeeze before relaxing his hold.

She lets her hand drop, sits up. He looks her in the eye, and she looks back.

“I need to know once and for all where your loyalties lie, Cassandra. With your father? … or _ Barbara _ ?” He asks, watching her as she is watching him, “or _ me? _”

“No. Not _ you. _ ” She says, the answer clear in her heart and soul, because love is different than loyalty. She reaches out to tap the bat symbol on his chest; it’s clearer than words, clearer than movements. She _ knows _ it. “ _ This.” _

There’s no surprise, not in his smile, or his eyes. Pride; pride is all she can see, and he nods, even though he doesn’t need to, and she can feel that it must be a mirror of his smile on her face.

He moves - not to stand, nothing so obvious - but a shift, small on the outside, but to her, it might as well be - what had Barbara said? ‘up in lights.’

And she knows it’s _ meant _ to be that clear to her, because he knows, and so she takes the invitation, leans forward and reaches out to hold him, as he does to hold her. 

They hold on together, father and daughter, until they hear the sound of wings overhead. Without words, they stand together, walking in step, side by side, following the wings out to the sun’s rise. 

_ \--- _

_ Coda _

He doesn’t disappear, this time, after their training session. She steps back out, clean and in what Oracle would call ‘real people clothes’, expecting an empty room. He’s there, sitting on a bench, reading something, and though his clothes are dark enough to _ match _the suit, they are not The Bat’s suit. 

He looks up as she enters, nods, and _ moves _. Not to get up, no statement so sweeping, but still as perfectly clear: she’s being welcomed to sit next to him. She can see where she’d fit, can see laid out exactly how his arm will move around her, to accommodate her, if she does.

It’s not an order, not even a request, but an offer, instead. 

To be held.

She walks to the bench, watching for him to change his mind. It’s not easy for either of them, she can see that as clearly as she feels it. But she is still welcome, and she still wants, so she sits down beside him, leaning against his side, and his arm moves just as she saw it would, to hold her.

With his other hand he turns a page in his book, and Cass closes her eyes, listening to him breathe, to the beat of his heart.

She is home.


End file.
